His Muse

part one.

I watch his hands as he picks up his pencil and carefully draws shapes on his paper.

I watch his eyes as they flicker around the room searching for inspiration.

I'm sitting on the bright purple couch centered to a window in the library. I'm reading.

He's sitting calmly at a desk in the middle of the library. He's drawing.

I watch him look around the room.

I want to know more about him. One look at him could tell you absolutely nothing.

He stops looking around. I stay looking at him. He looks at me.

A wave of something flashes over his eyes, that wave paralyzes me.

He found his muse.

He studies me. He begins at my eyes, an outsider would see this as romantic.

Or creepy, who knows.

But God, his eyes, I swear I'm drowning in the endless shades of blue.

He doesn't just study, he admires, he memorizes.

He meets my eyes. I feel him speak thousands of words.

But he stays silent.

This is a library after all.

He says nothing. His eyes say it all.

A smirk falls onto his lips as he flips onto a new page in his sketchbook.

I am his inspiration.

As I watch his eyes flicker from me to his page, I wondered why he was here.

At that exact desk,

In this exact library,

In front of me,

Was it fate?

Did fate lead him to this library, to that desk, right in front of me?

Will I find out?

I sat there. On the bright purple couch and understood that I had two options,

Ask him every question I had, or, allow him to use me for his art hoping he will speak to me.

Though I know nothing about him, I want every detail about him. Details even he doesn't know.

I want his name, I want his personality, I want his reasons, I want his goods, his bads.

Everything.

But that can't happen.

If you're asking why right now, you are just as much of the problem as me.

We feed ourselves these unrealistic expectations.

We think if we are the inspiration for a stranger's notebook, we are more than a late assignment.

We think we are soulmates destined to be together.

We think it'll be love at first sight. It isn't.

It might just be a quick fix for art block.

It means nothing.

Unless it means everything.

Whether this was nothing, or everything.

It does not matter.

Maybe I have read one too many romance novels.

Seen one too many romance movies?

Whatever it is, it has made me believe I am worthy of the stars aligning just for me.

I guess it would be for him too.

That is, if there is a him.

There is, just not now.

That I am sure of.

I am sure of that as I lay on this bright purple sofa centered to the window.

I am sure of that as I gaze out the window and imagine someone using me as a muse.

I am sure of that as I lay back on the couch and hold back tears feeling the realization.

The realization that none of this happened.

When I close my eyes and tell myself,

Open your eyes and look at the desk one last time, he will not be there. This did not happen.

When I open my eyes, he is not at the desk

Tears had already filled my eyes when I first closed my eyes.

Every single tear falls as I stand and grab my bag.

More fall as I leave the library.

Even more as I walk home.

And the last tear falls as I open my apartment door.

Suddenly I cannot stand anymore, the weight feeling too heavy to carry.

I fall down, my back sliding against the door.

The weight of knowing stars will not align for just me.

And there was no him for the stars to align for.

Whether or not fate exists, it does not exist for me.

It never has, and it never will.

Right?

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AN: So I started this a while ago and I've finally decided to publish it, I am very proud of how this story finished and I hope anyone that reads this does as well, if you have any feedback let me know! :)